


Whispers in the Dark

by elderwitty, squidgie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderwitty/pseuds/elderwitty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short character study of Ronon Dex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES: This is something a little different from us.  
> WARNING: Mentions canon character death.

Ronon looks down through the gloom of twilight, even candlelight too bright for his somber mood.  "I think you would’ve liked it here," he murmurs, "and you'd love my teammates.  Teyla, especially - she's a lot like you."  Memory fosters the barest curve of a smile, there and gone in an instant.  "Smart.  Caring.  Devoted.  Reminds me of you when-"  He falls silent.

He watches the last remnants of sunset trail over his few belongings in lieu of confronting feelings he's successfully avoided for years.  "You'd like Sheppard, too.  He's a good soldier; a good leader.  And McKay..."  With a soft snort, he confesses, "You two’d probably butt heads since you're both so..."  Pig-headed is harsh, so he reaches for something gentler, more politic.  "...strong-minded.  They're good people.  And they trust me."  The smile reappears as memories of his life in Atlantis flicker through his mind.  "Make me feel like I belong.  Like I'm not lost anymore."

Sitting alone in the dark, he lets that feeling chip away at the overwhelming sense of loss he's carried since before he started Running.  He strokes the pale blue ribbon she used to tie her hair up at the hospital; always in a perfect little bow on the side.  He would pull it loose the moment she got home, spilling her hair across his chest as he tumbled them back on the bed.  The same ribbon he’d had, by chance, stashed in a pocket, when the attack took her from him.

Sliding the fabric through his fingers, silky fibers briefly catching against calluses, he whispers, "I miss you, Melena."


End file.
